


Can you fix this? It's a broken heart.

by hgb



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:26:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgb/pseuds/hgb
Summary: A series in which I take canon, hold a dagger to its throat, and say, "Hamid deserves a little comfort."Chapter 1: Five Times Hamid Cried Alone (And One Time He Didn't)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 57





	Can you fix this? It's a broken heart.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConcentratedMatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcentratedMatter/gifts).



> For Babs, who deserves to have a little softness to balance out the crimes. Thank you for always encouraging my writing.

**One: At School**

Hot tears trickle down Hamid’s cheeks as he curls underneath the blankets, pressing his face into a damp pillow to stifle his sobs. His hands clench in tight fists, still stinging from the scrapes caused by one of the older boys pushing him to the ground. He shakes silently, knowing if anyone hears him it will start again. Cruel words, humiliating pranks, any sign of weakness will be exploited without hesitation. He wants to slip away to some quiet place where he won’t be overheard, but he can’t be caught out after curfew again. The last thing he needs right now is another angry letter from his father.

He thought things would be different here. His heart broke saying goodbye to Saira, but the farther he traveled from Cairo, the more he began to hope. Distance from his father’s harsh words, a chance to build new friendships, he was nervous traveling so far from home but he _hoped._

He lets out a shuddering breath, quietly vowing that this will change. He won’t let them see how it hurts. He’ll stop walking the halls with dread in his heart. He won’t spend another night crying himself to sleep. He’ll find a way to fit in. He’ll make friends. He can do this. 

Eventually, he does. He finds his way. If you can’t beat them, become one of them. He barely recognizes the sound of his own laughter, high and sharp. His words cut like knives, phrases learned through his own experience. He turns from their victim, and Gideon throws a friendly arm around his shoulders, roughly mussing his hair. There’s approval in his tone as he begins planning their next prank, and Hamid forces a smile to his face, heartsick. 

This isn’t quite the friendship he hoped for, but it’s better than being the boy on the ground. _Isn’t it?_ He buries the doubt and the shame, stumbling slightly as Gideon gives him a small shove. No one else will take care of him here. He is alone. He’ll protect himself. They walk away from the crying student, and Hamid pretends it doesn’t hurt.   
  


**Two: After the “Incident”**

Hamid sits alone beside the fireplace in his apartment. It’s empty and unlit. The room is chilled. He should get up, light the fire, let the crackling flames bring warmth and life into the room. He doesn’t. It’s not that cold. It can wait.

His sketchbook lies discarded and gathering dust on an ornate side table. He hasn’t reached for it in weeks. The last time he picked up a pen, he kept coming back to the same scene over and over and over again. It’s already burned into his memory, invading every nightmare, dogging his footsteps every day. It needn’t haunt him on paper as well. He should burn the sketchbook. Warm the room. He doesn’t. 

Drops of water strike his hand and he looks down, confused. He touches his face and realizes it’s wet. He’s crying. Strange. He hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel anything. He wipes his face against his sleeve and pulls himself upward out of the chair. He should really light the fire. 

He goes to bed.   
  


**Three: Goodbye Zolf  
**

Hamid flips idly through his sketchbook to an empty page and stares at it blankly for several moments. He draws a line here and then there, until he’s sketching a doorway. Then the back of a coat, shoulders stooped forward as if carrying the weight of the world, a head, turned slightly as if wishing to look back, but the expressions still hidden.  
  
It’s not his first attempt to draw someone from this angle. But unlike the times he’s used unforgiving lines to shape the ramrod straight back of his father, his hand doesn’t shake in remembered dread. This form is different, comforting and warm. Even in their arguments, in the face of Zolf’s anger, he never felt afraid.  
  
He sets the pen aside, suddenly frustrated by the inadequacy of his skill. He can capture an image but how will he hold onto the memory of a gentle voice steadying him in the catacombs, a game of I Spy, the embarrassed flush on Zolf’s cheeks as he stumbled through his goodbyes. “Payment enough was meeting you.”  
  
He looks again at the lines of Zolf’s back, stepping out of the door, out of his life. A drop of water mars the sketch, and then another, streaking ink across the page. He shoves it across the desk and angrily scrubs at his eyes. He needs to be stronger than this. He’ll be the one they look to tomorrow. He’s responsible now, Sasha said. All the food from all the fine restaurants he visited with her, and he still feels a hollow pit in his stomach, an emptiness that can’t be filled. He closes his eyes tightly against the tears but they trickle down his cheeks, unrelenting. He feels so lost.  
  


**Four: The Interrogation Room**

The supervisor takes his notes, watches for a moment, and then leaves without a word. Tears continue rolling steadily down Hamid’s cheeks. He slumps forward, dropping his face into his hands. He feels numb, hollowed out, empty. He cries for Aziza, for Bertie...for Zolf. He cries for everything he’s lost, for every time he failed, for every mistake that led him here. 

_“This isn’t the first time you’ve been associated with a potential set of murders.”_

Maybe this is what he deserves, everything crashing down around him. Maybe this is payment, for every child he taunted, every cruel prank, every cutting word, every life he destroyed. Maybe he deserves it. But Aziza...Aziza was good. She deserved a life full of fame, accolades, love. She deserved the world. She didn’t deserve _this._

He cries until there’s nothing left and then he falls asleep alone.   
  


**Five: Cairo Conflict**

He’s already in tears when he reaches his room. He crawls into bed and a small, broken part of him longs for Aziza, for Saira, for the comfort of curling into the arms of someone you love and entrusting them with your soul for safekeeping. Aziza is gone and Saira has more than enough to worry over without him adding to the list. There is no one to turn to here.

_“Justice means people get what they deserve.”_

He’s exhausted and afraid. He knows what he must do in the morning. Whether they demand it or not, they deserve the truth. He needs to tell them, he needs to know what they’ll do, if they’ll insist that he deserves punishment, if they’ll leave him behind. Alone again. He survived before. He’ll continue surviving, and no matter what he will continue to do good as best he can. 

He tries to sleep and wakes screaming. He watches the sun rise with tired eyes and heads downstairs to breakfast.

**  
One**

Flashes of fire and panicked screams, Hamid jolts awake with a soft whimper. His heart races and his eyes are blurred as he struggles to breathe, slowly pulling himself back into the present. His chest feels tight, tension pulling at every line of his body and he shudders in a sudden chill. Across the room, Azu shifts, murmuring softly in her sleep, and he tries to stifle the ragged sound of his breathing.

He slips out of bed, grabbing his cloak as he moves toward the door. It creaks slightly as he opens it and Azu shifts again. He looks back at her, a part of him longing to wake her, to tell her what’s wrong, to ask for help. But he’s disappointed her enough. She’s asleep, peaceful. He won't bother her. Not with this. 

He turns away, tugging the door shut behind him, and moves out to the front steps of the inn. There’s a cool breeze but he tucks the cloak against his legs instead of around his shoulders and buries his face in it. It’s a familiar sensation, muffling tears in a puddle of fabric, and with his arms wrapped around his knees, he finally releases the choking sobs built up in his chest. 

He doesn’t notice Azu’s approach. He doesn’t see the heartbreak cross her face as she watches him weeping alone. The first sign of her presence is a steady arm around his shoulders and he looks up, startled, into kind eyes.

“Hamid? Hamid, what’s wrong?”

“I..I was dreaming...about what I did...to the kobolds.”

He looks down, ducking his head so he won’t see disapproval in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Azu. I...I know it was wrong...I know I disappointed you and...” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, not knowing what to say, how to explain, how to apologize. 

“Oh, Hamid.” She pulls him into her arms and holds him close, speaking slowly and softly. “You are one of the bravest people I know. You have grown so much and I watch you try to do good everyday. I watch you care for others before yourself. I watch you put yourself at risk for us without a second thought. Your heart is one of the kindest and purest I have ever seen.”

Her hand brushes through his hair and wipes the tears away from his cheeks. “No one is perfect, Hamid, we all make mistakes. I...I killed some of them too. I understand. We did our best and we made mistakes. You do not have to carry this alone. I’m here. You are not alone, Hamid. Tomorrow, we will try again, together.”

She gently presses her lips to his forehead. “I love you, Hamid. And I am so proud of you.”

He melts into her arms, tension slowly bleeding away with each word. She still loves him. He’s not alone. He can breathe again. 

They sit quietly together for a time before Azu stands, still holding him, and walks out toward the ocean. She finds a cluster of rocks along the beach and settles on the sand, leaning back against them. Waves wash against the shore in a soothing, steady rhythm, and Azu begins to sing. Hamid remembers Aziza, that steady, comforting presence in his childhood, wiping away his tears, and softly singing his favorite songs. The words of Azu’s song are unfamiliar but the slow, peaceful tune lulls him to sleep in her arms. 

He wakes to the first rays of the sun rising across the water and finds another solid form leaning against the rocks beside him. Zolf pulls his gaze away from the sunrise and looks down, eyes warm and understanding. He rests his hand gently on Hamid’s knee and squeezes it, giving him a nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the ocean view. Hamid reaches out to place one hand on top of Zolf’s. 

He looks over to see Cel, sprawled sleepily at Azu’s side and reaching across to grasp Hamid’s other hand. They twitch a bit, snuggling more closely into Azu’s shoulder, while she looks down at them with a loving smile. 

His heart feels full, surrounded on all sides by people who love him, who cared enough to notice his pain, who sought him out to comfort him, to ensure he wasn’t alone. He leans back against Azu's chest and watches the sunrise. 

They sit tangled together in silence, no words needed. As the sun rises, footsteps sound behind them and Hamid looks up. Wilde stands there holding a large basket and looking uncharacteristically awkward. 

“I brought breakfast. And lunch. I’m waiting on some essential reports from a few of my sources before I can send you out again, so there’s nothing that any of you need to do today. I thought you might like to...have a day.” His words are somewhat stilted, and his hand waves vaguely, indicating the basket and the sandy beach.

Hamid could have sworn he’d seen Wilde reviewing those “essential” reports yesterday, but he holds his tongue. A day...a day to simply be...a day together with his closest friends. Wilde gives a quick nod and places the basket beside them before turning back toward the inn.

"Wait, Oscar!”

He looks over his shoulder. “Yes?” 

“If you’re just waiting on reports, then there’s no reason you shouldn’t have a day off as well. Join us. For breakfast at least.” 

Wilde pauses for a moment, caught off guard, and then turns back to drop beside the basket on the sand. 

“Well alright, I’ll stay for breakfast. You know I do love…”

“A bit of sausage. I know.”

The laughter feels good.

* * *

They have a day. A day in shirtsleeves and sunshine, a day of childish games and laughter, running across the sand, splashing in the surf, voices loud and warm and _happy._ As they walk back toward the inn that evening, Hamid looks around at his disheveled and smiling second family. He takes Azu’s hand, Cel gently ruffles his hair, and Zolf clasps his shoulder. Behind him, Wilde smiles, small and secret.

Tomorrow he’ll continue striving to do good. And he won’t be alone. They’ll be by his side, every step of the way, celebrating his successes, catching him when he stumbles, comforting him in his darkest moments. Hamid’s heart soars like a bird, filled to the brim with hope and joy. He feels like he could reach up with outstretched arms and fly above the clouds. Almost... _almost._ ********

**Author's Note:**

> We are made up of our mistakes  
> We are falling but not alone  
> We will take the best parts of ourselves  
> And make them gold
> 
> Make Them Gold by CHVRCHES


End file.
